


A New Choice: Level Two, Happy VD

by Spadesjade



Series: Tom and Michelle [3]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Controversy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Presents, Sweet, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spadesjade/pseuds/Spadesjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Michelle celebrate Valentine's Day. Steps are taken, and understandings advance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Choice: Level Two, Happy VD

**Author's Note:**

> I missed the Friday Fluff Fanfare deadline, but I still wanted to post this. A very serious conversation about sex, marriage and contraception is contained in this chapter, and if you disagree, that's fine, but be aware.

I'd promised him, the night of his birthday, that I would have his present on Valentine's Day.

I hated Valentine's Day.

VD.

Venereal Disease. 

"Have a happy VD, everybody," I'd always say. That was how I coped. Not having any reason to actually celebrate the holiday, I'd mocked and derided it.

I still wanted to mock and deride it.

But his birthday was five days before the holiday, and I knew after his big party he wouldn't be operating on all thrusters, so I didn't want to give him his present then. I decided to wait.

They took everyone else home, first. I found this out later when I woke up with my head on Tom's shoulder and my arms wound around his waist. He hadn't had the heart to wake me until he absolutely had to. 

He still walked me to my door. We kissed for a few minutes, me much more sober than him, admittedly. He wasn't completely trashed -- all the dancing had exhausted both of us, but he still had birthday shots to consume, and it had worked through his system quickly. The man had the fastest metabolism I'd ever seen in a human being.

"I'll give you your gift on Valentine's Day," I promised, going into my apartment.

"You could give me a gift right now," he teased, but I scowled playfully at him, knowing he wasn't really serious. 

"Go home, Tom, you're drunk," I dead panned.

"Drunk on you, babeee..." But he winked at me and headed back down to the limo.

Still, it left me with an accelerated heartbeat. He was teasing, I knew, but...next time he might not be.

I pushed it away. There was time. We'd only been together six weeks. He was leaving in two. 

It might not even matter.

I had a few days left of my time off, and on the actual day of Valentines I had an early shift that ended at four. Working seven days of twelve hours each and then having six off, it meant that one of my shifts wasn't actually twelve hours, but eight. I was able to finagle it so that that shift landed on Valentines. So at four, I planned to head home and get the lasagna ready, for Tom to come at six.

How he managed to get that time off, I didn't know. It seemed that he had a much more flexible shooting schedule than I imagined a big Hollywood blockbuster to allow. Either that or he was playing hooky to be with me. The thought delighted me. 

So lasagna...I didn't want to make a regular lasagna. I wanted to make my brother's white chicken lasagna. But for the love of me I couldn't find the stupid recipe for the white sauce -- the rest was easy, chicken and artichoke and mozzarella, but for that sauce I had to be sure. 

Matthew, three years my junior and by default my baby brother, was one of my best friends. He had encouraged me to go to USC to get my degree, in spite of the fact that it was an hour and a half away from home, and it was cheaper, ultimately, to drive back and forth every day than it was to live on campus, considering the expense. He helped me find low interest student loans because he'd always been better at that sort of thing than me, even at the age of sixteen, and when I finally got a job, we had been roommates in town while he also went to school to get his teaching credential in Math and Science for middle school. He currently taught at a private Catholic school, and his seventh graders had no idea how lucky they were to have him. 

Now, he was married to a wonderful woman named Iris and they were expecting their second child. Not bad for thirty-two.

Still, even though I didn't see him as much as I used to (as visits to his house were more about the kids than just hanging out with my baby brother) we made an effort to stay current of each other's lives.

And I hadn't told him about Tom.

Quite frankly, I hadn't told anyone. Monica and Katherine knew because of proximity, but at the hospital, I'd only told my work-mom Cynthia, and since the new year Matthew and I hadn't talked much. Iris was getting close to her due date and things were a bit frantic in his household. After all, it had only been six weeks.

I knew how he was going to react. I knew he was going to make a big deal out of it. Because it was my first relationship. Because it was with a person who was famous. Because it was with a person who had broken my heart when I was younger (he may have only been fifteen at the time but he knew someone had done his big sister wrong, and fifteen year old are notoriously hot-blooded). And because it was serious.

He was going to be thrilled and terrified for me. He was going to push and also be protective. And by telling him, I was declaring something. Putting something in stone.

I didn't know why I was hesitating so much. Or maybe I did and just didn't want to see it. His favorite saying was, "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt."

It took a bit of rehearsing what I was going to say before I finally dialed his number. He should have been home from work by 5, but I anticipated getting interrupted at least three times by his little daughter Sarah, or by Iris who needed help with Sarah. Their kids were going to be three years apart, girl then boy, just like he and I. I thought it was adorable, and had taken to telling him that.

None of the rehearing mattered. He saw through me in less than five minutes.

"Shelly, is something going on? You sound weird."

"Why do I sound weird?" I asked, sounding even weirder. "And how can you even tell with a three year old in your ear?"

"I teach thirty twelve-year olds," he quipped. "I'm very good at multi-tasking."

"No such think as multi-tasking," I reminded him of our father's favorite current topic. "Just means you aren't paying full attention to anything."

"Pish posh," he returned. "You're avoiding. What is it? You got plans for VD?"

That last bit was delivered with a bit of derision. Usually I would have laughed but when I didn't, stung by the sudden remark, he instantly knew.

"You have a date?" His voice was soft, not incredulous like our mother's would have been. Not skeptical like our father's would have been. Gentle. Like coaxing a scared kitten out of a hiding place. 

"Yeah," I finally said. And it came out. It all came out. How I had met Tom again at Monica's New Year's party. How we'd been dating, and then the birthday party at the club. How it was getting serious and how I was utterly terrified and I needed him to be supportive and not tell me all the things that could go wrong like mom would because I already thought all of those things already, a hundred times each, and I still wanted to do this.

"So you're making him dinner? Fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Matthew couldn't help but tease me. It was his way. It was all our ways, if we weren't teasing each other something was wrong.

"Not for the first time," I said. "And don't say that's why he stuck around--"

"No, of course not. Took balls for a guy to do what he did. He must really like you. Men -- people in general, don't do that kind of thing. They don't go to a person from half a lifetime ago and ask for another chance. That's the kind of thing you read about in books."

"Yeah," I said again. "I...I really, really like him, Mattie. I'm so freaking scared at how much I like him."

"Does he know?" I didn't have to ask what Matthew meant.

"We're not ready for that conversation--"

"After what happened in the club? He knows it's coming. And with this kind of holiday, it would make sense to bring it up. Don't ignore your problems and hope they'll go away, Shelly. This isn't the kind of thing that happens to everyone."

I groaned. "That's supposed to make me feel braver?"

"Yes," he declared. "Seriously, in all these years, nobody has ever gotten through the front door with you. Even that kid in college, Kevin, he was insanely in love with you for two years, and you just didn't feel it, even though I know you tried to make yourself. I've never heard you talk about anyone like this. I've never heard this tone. You're not going to gain anything by waiting. And he sounds like one of those sensitive types --"

"Like you."

"Yeah, sometimes. Our dad was never much for being macho, thank God."

"I thought real men weren't crazy about having 'talks.'"

"Depends on the talk. I haven't met him but from what you've told me, he's not adverse to serious conversations. If he's an actor he's probably highly verbal. Sorry, slipping into teacher mode."

"No, it's fine. Go ahead, analyze him. You watched the Marvel movies, you fanboyed over all that."

Matthew laughed. "I have to meet him before I can say anything else. Loki was not a nice guy, but I had heard him say Loki was like a photo negative of him, so I think you're safe."

"I'm not safe," I said after a considerable pause. "I hate giving someone power to hurt me."

"I know, Shelly. That's why I know this is a big deal. You don't gain anything if you don't risk anything. You don't get a heart by not putting yours out there. I know you like to protect yourself, I know you don't feel comfortable being vulnerable, but nobody does, sweetie. Nobody. And I know that once you get over that hump, you'll be fine. You just need the activation energy. The rest will take care of itself."

I rolled my eyes. "Now you're being a teacher."

"It applies. And you have to remember, Shelly -- he's not safe, either."

We fell silent as I let those words sink in.

"Okay, you want the recipe?"

\-------------------

On the appointed day, Tom showed up at my door. Seeing him was like seeing a sunrise -- he wore a dark-red shirt and a black pair of pants, and a black tie with some kind of reddish zigzag pattern. For a man who usually only wore blue outside of his blacks, whites and grays, it was stunning. 

In his hands, he bore a gigantic red velvet box shaped like a heart. It was a two pound box of Godiva. That he had selected himself. 

"I would whine about not wanting to get fat," I admonished him, even though I was rather thrilled, "but I just can't resist chocolate." And he'd sent me a giant bouquet of oriental lilies, my favorite, while I was at work. I'd brought them home to use as the centerpiece for the table.

I'd had the cleaning woman back again a few days ago, knowing he was coming over that evening. Dinner was almost ready. I set the heart box down on the counter, and turned to him. "So, you want it now or after dinner?"

His look was utter mischief. That fucking eyebrow! I wanted to staplegun it down so that it would never torment me again...or put it in my pocket. Either way. 

"You wouldn't give me the choice if you really wanted me to wait," he said. "So...now."

I brought out a big white box with a red velvet bow tied across it. I had a ton of Christmas ribbons, the ones with wire or without, satin, velvet, glitter, patterned. I loved wrapping things. I was lucky this one just happened to double.

He slid the ribbon off, not wanting to undo it. The box came open -- and a deep hunter green cardigan lay inside.

"Wow," he said, running his hand over the heavy cable knit. "This is...perfect!"

"I know you like cardigans, and I just instantly pictured what you'd look like in this one," I said. "Plus, you needed some color. And green. For Loki."

He picked it up, ready to put it on for sizing, and then the neck fell open and the brightly colored picture appeared.

"What's this?"

I just grinned at him.

He picked up the brochure. His face lit up. Spotlight, on. "Parasailing?"

"On Catalina. Maybe you've done it before, but I know you haven't been on Catalina. It's a fabulous view, trust me."

"You've done it?"

I nodded. "You can go whenever you want."

"You mean, *we* can go," he said, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me in. One hand still held the cardigan. 

I chuckled. "When you come back, yes, if you want me to go with you. Catalina would be a perfect day trip. I thought it would be some incentive to come back sooner."

He shook his head. "I don't need added incentive, but it's a fantastic gift," he said, his voice low and smoky. He kissed me, very gently. Then he sighed, his breath drifting over my cheek. "Actually, I had one more thing for you."

"Oh?"

He let go, reached into his pocket. What came out was a red enameled heart, a trinket box. It fit snugly in the palm of his hand, and he placed it in mine.

I stared at for a moment. Very strange visions danced in my head. 

"Open it," he encouraged.

I did.

Inside, lay a coiled lock of his dark golden hair.

A curl. A thick one. Sitting there, in the little enameled red heart box.

He won. He just shut down Valentine's Day.

I managed to drag my jaw shut and the motion made me lift my head to look at him. His eyes were wide, eyebrows up in anticipation. 

"I hope it's not...I mean, when they were trimming my hair, for the wig, I managed to grab a few...I just thought it would be sweet. Old fashioned."

There were tears burning my eyelids. My make-up was going to be wasted - again. I only wore make-up for Tom. For him I wanted to be pretty. Apparently what he really wanted was for me to be vulnerable -- just like Matthew had said. That was why these emotional displays kept happening, he was trying to show me his heart and get me to show him my own.

Remembering my brother's words, I was going to try and give it to him.

"I...I love it," I managed, choked. "Thank you."

He let out a breath. His rigid shoulders relaxed. "I wanted to...leave something with you. To make you think of me."

*Oh, I will.* I gently nudged it with my finger. It was just as soft as the rest of him. In the six weeks, he'd grown it back a bit, and a few curls hung over his forehead, giving me excuses to touch them and brush them back. He seemed to love me touching his hair, leaning into it like an eager puppy, which made sense since he pretty much played with mine at every opportunity.

A hesitant look rose on his face. "I was wondering if...if you'd mind. I understand if you don't want to, but..." He reached up, pulled a lock of my hair from underneath, twirling it.

It hit me quickly. "You want...you want a lock of my hair?"

He nodded, adorably sheepish.

"Um...sure. Let me...let me get the lasagna out first."

It was sitting on the oven, cooling, and I was sitting in a kitchen chair, and Tom had somehow gotten all my hair pulled up into my hair clip, and was gently brushing a lock of hair from the very nape of my neck, and tied it in a piece of red ribbon, one of the satiny ones, from my Christmas collection. It was probably the most erotic experience of my life, him combing his fingers through my hair, murmuring about how soft it was, warning me to stick to my resolution to never put any product in it -- that was why it stayed soft, because it kept it healthy. He liked being able to touch it, he whispered in my hear, without worrying about me complaining about him messing it up.

He tied the ribbon around the lock very tightly, but lifted it so that it wouldn't pull me. Then I heard the snip of the scissors, a few of them, as he meticulously cut the lock from its place. He had assured me that he wouldn't leave a bald spot. I didn't care. He could have shaved my head at this moment and I'd have handed him the razor.

I felt the pressure, the pull, and then nothing. Tom's finger brushed against the spot, and then, his lips pressed against it.

And I was zero to sixty in five seconds flat.

I had never, ever in my life had a sensation like that. Everything below my hips suddenly started to tingle as if a wave of electricity had passed through it, and then circled around, again and again and again. I'd been aroused before, but it had taken time and increments. I was ready now. All the way ready. 

And I was absolutely terrified.

The truth was, I was a virgin. And that meant something to me. Something real and important, something that wasn't going to be treated trivially, like something to be lost. I had been raised to believe in waiting until marriage, and at a certain point, I had made the choice for myself rather than having it forced upon me.

But this. I wanted him now. 

I had never wanted anybody like this. 

There had never been a real temptation before. Sure, I'd been hit on, but not one of those guys ever really stood a chance. It was the story of my life that either I was interested in the guy, or he was interested in me. Never both. Never ever both.

Until Tom.

I stood up. He must have understood the look on my face because we were locked at the lips so quickly I don't remember moving or him stepping toward me. His hands ran down my sides, sending shivers everywhere, and the memory of his hand on my breast burned like a brand. 

I pressed into him, eager for more. All I could think of was *want.* Something had short circuited my brain and I was out of control. A voice in the back of my head kept screaming to stop, to pull back, to take a breath, but it took the sensation of Tom's tongue start to slide between my lips to make me actually jerk away.

Tom's hands were on my forearms, and to my surprise, he pushed away. Both of us were panting.

"Oh my God," I whispered. It wasn't an exclamation of shock. It was an actual prayer. I took a step back so he wasn't touching me anymore, and tried to breathe.

It wouldn't go away. That sensation...it was like a sentient thing. The idea that my lady parts could suddenly take control of my brain was upsetting, but it wasn't enough to stop it. I needed to go stand in the damn shower. Full cold blast.

From the look of him, he needed it too.

His hands were up, as if defending himself. His hair was mussed, his lips were swollen, and he was flushed scarlet. I didn't dare look lower -- I couldn't take it.

"I think," he managed, his voice tight, controlled, "that we need to talk."

"Probably should have talked before now," I muttered. "I need...a minute."

"Yeah." I headed to the bathroom. Tom headed outside. Both of us needed to cool down.

\------------------

So this was it. I had to do it. I had to go out there, take a breath, and let it out. I had to tell him, and I had to come completely clean.

And he could absolutely reject me.

Knowing Tom, he would do it in a way that wouldn't hurt immediately. No, that pain would come later, when I was alone, and remembering him. When I was holding that beautiful curl he'd laid in that box...

No, wait.

That curl. He'd given me a piece of himself. 

I could have laughed at it. I could have done so many things. He knew my nature, he knew my insecurity and my pessimism and my cynicism, and he knew how hard I worked to push through those things, even though I didn't always succeed. 

He had taken a chance, I realized.

My brother was right.

I had to do the same.

When I came out, I found him sitting on my couch, perched on the edge, his elbows on his knees, hands together. He looked up at me, those eyebrows raised, those eyes so big and blue.

"You okay?" I asked, more out of habit than anything else.

He gave a brief nod, motioned next to him for me to sit. I did, turning so that my knees pointed at him, and he looked...embarrassed.

"So," I said.

"I know that this is ungentlemanly of me," he began, looking up at me sideways, "but perhaps I could go first?"

Surprised, I nodded. My stomach clenched, and I realized that I was so focused on what I wanted to say that I hadn't thought about his side of things. 

He straightened, turned a bit more to me. Our knees didn't touch but they could easily if either shifted too much. Why was I so aware of that?

"That summer you and I met," he began, his palms rubbing against his thighs toward his knees. "I don't know what you remember, but I remember that first afternoon we all went to eat at that Indian restaurant. It was only a few blocks from the theater so everyone loved it because nobody had to worry about driving."

"I remember," I said softly. "They had the best Naan bread."

"They did," he agreed with a small grin, but continued. "The table was sort of split. I remember it very clearly in my head. I was across from you, not quite, one over. You were talking with Katherine and some other girls and you wound up getting into a pretty deep conversation. I don't think you knew I was listening, we'd been joking around, the guys and I, and maybe you thought none of us were paying attention. I think one of the girls was talking about..." and he blushed a bit at this, "about losing her virginity to her boyfriend. And I remember your reaction. It was just of...dismay."

Now I blushed. I didn't remember much of this, but I did remember the restaurant and I did know that I often ran into people who assumed I had the same view of sex that they did. It was always a fast way to end a friendship.

"And you all got into a huge conversation, and it was funny because there was another girl on your side, I can't remember her name, but it was you and her against Katherine and the newly deflowered virgin. You had some very traditional views about love and sex and marriage and I think they all thought you were just naive. And when it was done, the girl with Katherine told you that you'd change your mind one day, when it was your turn 'in the seat,' I think were her words."

Oh yes. I remembered that. She was always discounting my opinion about things because of my lack of experience with the other sex, after that. We'd never been real friends, just acquaintances, and it was one of the reasons we'd never gotten closer. 

"And you sighed, and looked so sad, and said that you hoped not. I think that was the moment, for me. You had made all these reasonable points, all backed up by logic and long term thinking, not by emotion. All they could offer in return is that they could do what they wanted. You wanted something more. Now, being a hormonal young man, I didn't really appreciate your stance at the time, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Admittedly, it had already been too late for me..." He sighed, looked away. "When we reunited at the New Years' party, we both knew we were different people, but in some ways we're still the same. I've seen in you the same things I saw in you then, the same sense of integrity and loyalty and steadfastness, and just now...I mean, I wanted it to. But I have to ask you, was that girl right? Did you change your mind?"

"No," I said, hearing how I was not too quick and not too deliberate. "No, I've never changed my mind. I haven't had a relationship like this before, Tom. So truthfully, I've never been tested. I sort of feel like what just happened in there was exactly what that girl was talking about. But I decided then that I wasn't going to fall into the trap that sex creates, and I still hold myself to that."

He nodded. There was a smile on his face. "I respect that."

I sighed. The urge to hear those words as what all men say rose hard, but I had to put to use that steadfastness he spoke of. "I do still think that sex belongs in marriage. I know that's a completely unpopular point of view. But I don't let it influence me. But now, admittedly, I have to think of someone else, and this is a conversation we have to have. I mean, you told me you were serious about me, and I'm serious about you, and maybe it wasn't the right timing to talk about this then, but it is going to affect you for me to stay with my resolution."

I paused for breath, and our eyes locked and held for a few moments.

"You remember on the phone a few days ago? When I told you that I liked to wish people a happy VD?"

"Venereal disease, yes," he said, his brow just a bit low with distaste.

"I admit that I do that because I hate the holiday. And the reason I hate the holiday is because it isn't really about love, because even love today isn't about love. It's about sex. Couples think they have to test each other out like they're a car they're going to purchase. Human beings aren't objects---" I paused, feeling my breath catch in my throat.

Tom reached out, took my hand. "I know, Michelle," he said very sweetly. 

"So admittedly, I'm still a cynic. Being with you has been...eye opening in so many ways. But I have to know, can *you* live with that, Tom? *I* don't have to have sex with you to know I want to be with you. Sex is an expression, an extension of love, not a thing to base it on, not a reason. And I always said that if I did ever get married, I would not contracept. I don't trust that stuff, I work in a hospital and I've seen things, Tom. And if I love a man enough to have sex with him, I don't want barriers, I don't want exceptions. I don't want you separated from me by a condom, or a diaphragm. And I sure as hell would never have an abortion, let's not even go there right now. So if I'm not going to contracept, then that means I need to wait until I'm married before I start having kids. I mean, I owe them, in my own conscience, that much. I owe them a united, committed family that goes beyond...sentiment. That's what I had and it's what I want. And why do you keep looking at me like that?"

His eyes, this whole time, had stayed on me. He was smiling, not that mega-watt smile that destroyed hearts all over the globe, but that gentle, tender smile that made me feel the strength of his affection for me. That made me think he might be in love with me.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, at least not all right now," Tom said. "You have very good reasons for wanting what you want. As much as I am physically attracted to you, it is not the sole reason I'm with you. I admire that you know your choices might make you unpopular but you're willing to take that chance."

"That's wonderful to hear, Tom," I said, bracing myself, "but I have to know. I have to know if you can do this, too. I am not going to force it on you. You can't think of it as if you have to agree or we can't be together -- that will just make you resent me later. If you need time, that's fine. We can go in the kitchen, eat a nice dinner, and you can think on it."

"I already have, for longer than you might think. Like I said, I remember, Michelle. I remember who you are. You're more grown up now, but you're still basically the same person, as I am. If I want to make love to you, it's to express my feelings for you, not test them. But you're right, sex is very powerful. I won't lie to you and say I haven't experienced it, and I've also experienced the disasters it can cause, and the acute pain that knowing you shared yourself so intimately with someone who rejected you later can cause."

"So is that why you wanted to try with me?" I couldn't help but ask. "I mean, because you knew I---"

"It wasn't in the forefront of my mind, no," Tom said. "I didn't...pick you out of a catalogue because I was tired of the same old models. Don't think I can't hear the paranoid thoughts that dance through your head sometimes," he added, teasingly but not really. "But I have allowed myself to grow attached to you because I know...I know that with you, we can have conversations like this. You were at a different level. You've always been, Michelle. You're more aware of yourself than any twenty people I could name. You don't do things by whim or impulse -- at least, not normally."

I couldn't help but chuckle in embarrassment. "You make my emotions high, Tom," I told him, blushing. "And when they get high I'm at risk of being impulsive. Which means," I added, more seriously, "you have to be with me on this. I can't do it for both of us. I know you would never take advantage of me, but you don't have quite the same beliefs about it that I do, and--"

He reached over, his fingers caressing my cheek, his thumb brushing my lips, first the top and then the bottom. "You've told me how you're trying to grow. How you're trying to leave your comfort zone. How you're trying to overcome your fears. I know you won't change who you are, but you are trying to change how you interact with the world. I want to be a part of that. And even though I will admit that I want you very much, I want to learn and grow as well. And I want you more than I want mere physical satisfaction. So as you are putting yourself up to a different, better example, I will do the same. I can't promise you perfection."

I almost laughed. "Sorry, with my particular model, perfection isn't an option," I quipped.

He pressed his thumb against my bottom lip a bit. "It's an option," he whispered. "Just in limited supply."

I sighed. I felt such a rush of emotion. And I knew what emotion was the strongest. I loved him. I was in love with him. Maybe it was the moment...but I felt it. And I didn't think it was going to go away. 

"It's not going to be easy, Tom," I said, and I scooted closer to him, slinging my arm around his waist, pulling him into me. In return, his arm went around my shoulder, his fingers toying with the stray locks of my hair. "For either one of us. But I won't wish anyone else a happy VD anymore. Regardless of where this goes, between us, I know you and I aren't playing, that we're in this for real. If it doesn't work, in the end, if we end up disappointed, it won't be because we didn't do everything we could. And I know that this conversation we're having right now is the closest thing to real love I've ever experienced in my life. The kind of ideal love I've always wanted. Valentines Days won't ever be the same for me. I can't mock that. It's too precious."

I rested my chin against his chest. His mouth found my forehead and he kissed me, lingering there. I shut my eyes...I felt renewed. I had promised myself I would leap. I could feel myself soaring. It was dizzying. I brought the arm on his waist up across his back, the other across his chest, my hands joining on his opposing shoulder. I squeezed, and while Tom was an amazing hugger, this hug was all from me. 

I felt like I had cracked myself open and poured myself out. And he had been there, ready to receive. 

"Michelle," I heard him whisper into my hair. That was not just affection. That was something else. Whatever I was feeling, he was feeling it too.

I had never experienced anything like this in my life. I didn't believe it existed. But to feel it now -- it was so hard not to try and discount it, to try and disprove it. To tell myself I was nuts and over exaggerating. 

I made myself. I made myself believe.

My mouth started to open. Something was going to come out, and I wasn't sure what it was. Was I going to tell him, right now, that I loved him?

"You make me feel safe," I whispered.

He tilted my face up to look at him. His eyes...those eyes. They would be burned into my memory for all eternity. 

"You make me feel safe, too," he returned.

\---------------------

"I can reheat the lasagna," I said a few minutes later when we were back in the kitchen. 

"What is that?" Tom said when he opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water. He pointed to the round object on the top shelf.

"It's a caramel turtle tart," I replied. "Chocolate cookie bottom, caramel, and chocolate ganache." I gave him a cheeky little grin. "It was part of your Valentine's gift."

"Where did you get it?"

"Silly man. I made it. Admittedly I've only made caramel once before so it may be more goo than anything. But it tastes fantastic, I promise."

He fixed me with a rather stunned look, that slowly dissolved into a knowing grin. "You may like to stamp your feet and pretend you're this hard cynic," he said, shutting the door. "But inside I think you're like that tart. Make of golden goo."

"Yeah, well, just don't let it get around," I sighed, but I was smiling.


End file.
